


i don't remember the rules anymore

by witching



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Immediately Post-Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 10:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16514798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been through a lot, up to and including the end of the world. After they avert the Apocalypse, some things are bound to change. Suddenly, it doesn't seem to matter what the Above and Below frown upon, and little transgressions -- like falling in love -- don't sound so far-fetched as they once did.





	i don't remember the rules anymore

Some things stayed the same after the Apocalypse. Crowley still visited the book shop at least every other day. Aziraphale still pretended to be too busy to talk, and Crowley still coaxed him out with whatever wiles he needed to use. Usually, it was Aziraphale’s favorite muffin from his favorite bakery, which was a significant detour for Crowley to take on his way from his flat to the book shop, but he said he just happened to be passing by and he was a little peckish and he went in to get a danish and thought he’d pick up a cranberry orange muffin while he was there. He had always said this, and Aziraphale had always seen right through his lie, and this did not change.

Crowley still took far too much joy in invading the angel’s personal space, leaning just a little too far over his desk, breathing just a little too close to his face. Aziraphale still calmly, steadily stood his ground, nonchalantly finishing whatever he was reading before acknowledging the demon’s presence. They still got lunch together, they still got drunk together, they still had good-natured arguments about anything and everything.

Some things stayed the same after the Apocalypse, but some things definitely did not.

The first time that Crowley went to visit Aziraphale at the book shop was immediately following his 42-hour post-Apocalypse nap. Lack of biological imperative notwithstanding, he had earned a good rest. When he did show up at the shop, it was fairly evident that Aziraphale had not had even a moment’s rest, in any sense of the word. He was seated cross-legged on the floor, surrounded on all sides by several tall stacks of books. In one hand he held a pen, presumably the culprit of the many ink stains on his skin and clothes. The angel was disheveled, scribbling furiously in a notepad, muttering to himself, but Crowley couldn’t help noticing how content he looked.

“Inventory?” Crowley peeked over a pile of thick books to see what Aziraphale was writing.

The angel jumped out of his skin, knocking over seventeen books in the process. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Crowley grinned, casually removing his sunglasses. That was new. He had almost always kept them on before, even in the presence of Aziraphale, who had seen his eyes many times. “No sneaking occurred. It’s not my fault you built a soundproof cell out of old books.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale corrected, “these are new books. New shop, too. Have to get everything documented and accounted for and in order.”

“So that’s a yes, then, on the inventory,” Crowley drawled.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s a yes. Did you need something?”

The demon swung a leg over a pile and placed one foot between Aziraphale and his tome, toppling one or two book towers. He sat unceremoniously, his long legs slung over the angel’s lap, his back against the solid wall that formed one side of the book fort.

“My dear,” Aziraphale sighed, “must you?” As he spoke, he slid a ribbon into his book and calmly set it aside.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said, then with a bitter smile, almost a whisper, “my angel. Yes, I’m afraid I must.” He took Aziraphale’s hands into his own with something an uninitiated observer might call tenderness.

Aziraphale, however, would not call it that. “What are you playing at?” His mild irritation was par for the course, but his bluntness – that was new. Crowley had always known Aziraphale to be infuriatingly polite, to his own detriment.

The demon shook his head. “Not playing at anything,” he said, “for once.”

Aziraphale dropped his guard in an instant, hit with full force by Crowley’s solemnity. “Crowley, are you alright?”

“Yes, I think I am. I just needed to see you.”

“Why?” The bluntness again, but not annoyed this time. Curious. Concerned, perhaps.

Crowley inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the shop, the scent of Aziraphale. Old paper and old glue and old ink and an old, old friend. “I’ve had a realization,” he said slowly, and then trailed off without elaborating.

“What’s that, then?”

The silence between them buzzed for a few long moments before Crowley responded. “I need to be with you,” he said simply.

That was new. “You – what?” Aziraphale blinked hard, trying to catch up.

“My sweet angel,” Crowley replied earnestly, “we survived the end of the world together – we _stopped_ the end of the world together – thee and me, with a small herd of children.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I suppose you could put it that way, if you leave out the part where our biggest contribution was in bungling the whole thing.”

The demon moved right past that comment, running a fingertip in circles on the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “We did that, so I think, basically… screw it, you know?”

“I very much do not know,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley loosed an exasperated sigh. “What I’m saying is… despite Heaven, despite Hell, despite every stupid, beautiful human, we live to die another day. We keep going. We always keep going, me and you, always.”

“Well, yes. I guess you’re right about that,” the angel conceded.

“So I think, screw it,” Crowley finished decisively.

Aziraphale shook his head slightly. “You lost me again, dear. I’m not quite following.”

Crowley looked intensely at the angel. “I’ve never been the model of demonhood, I know, but I have tried to stay low on the radar, generally,” he said. “Not causing too much fuss for the guys down below, not breaking any of the big rules. I didn’t do everything right, but I did it well enough, right up until the end of the world. And with that behind us, I’m not going back. I’m done following the rules.”

A moment passed while Aziraphale soaked in the words. “Okay,” he said finally, “and what is the effect of this transformation?”

“The effect, dear angel, is that I am no longer going to play this game with you,” Crowley gestured between the two of them, “where we pretend that this is a grudging friendship formed out of convenience.”

“Alright…” Aziraphale spoke slowly, cautiously.

Crowley plowed on. “So, I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to be near you, all the time. Six thousand years is too long to keep up a charade. I’m not doing it anymore.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. “You – you what?”

“Please, angel, don’t make me say it again,” Crowley said gruffly.

“Okay. I won’t. You don’t have to,” the angel replied, his voice flat and low.

“And I – I understand you’re not one to break rules – I get that – you can do whatever you want, I just – I couldn’t keep pretending forever, it was killing me,” Crowley rambled, until Aziraphale interrupted him.

“I… need a moment,” he said.

Crowley stood quickly, prepared to leave. “Sure, yes. Of course. I’ll go.”

Aziraphale caught the demon by a wrist as he attempted to skirt a pile of books. “No. I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go,” he whispered.

“But you –,”

“I said I needed a moment. I’ve had a moment, it’s over now,” the angel said calmly.

Crowley swallowed. “And?”

“The way I see it,” Aziraphale began, standing to level with Crowley, “Heaven’s never done anything for me that you haven’t replicated tenfold.”

Crowley frowned in thought. “Oh.”

He continued, “I mean, if it’s a question of my loyalty, that is decidedly yours.”

“Oh,” the demon repeated.

“And if it’s a question of my heart,” Aziraphale pressed on, “you have always had that, wholly.”

Crowley had opened his mouth to utter a third “oh,” but Aziraphale had taken his face firmly with both hands and pulled him into a kiss, fierce and deep. It took a fraction of a second of shock before the demon reciprocated in full force. He was cold-blooded, and he reveled in the warmth of the angel’s hands on his skin. He inhaled Aziraphale’s scent like a drug, an intoxicating mixture of soap and lotion and earl grey and fresh mint. They moved together, as if this were not entirely new. As if they had been doing this for six thousand years. Which they had, in a way.

It was days or years or seconds when they pulled away from each other, separating by centimeters. Aziraphale kept his hands steady on Crowley’s cheeks, his gaze steady on Crowley’s eyes.

“So, you definitely don’t like me, then,” Crowley said, his soft voice falling just short of the sarcasm for which he was aiming.

“Don’t ruin it,” whispered Aziraphale.

Crowley smiled, genuinely smiled. “If you don’t want me to ruin it, you shouldn’t let me talk,” he said. “Ruining things is kind of what I do.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, quickly, reflexively. “I don’t believe that,” he said, dropping his hands to the demon’s shoulders. “Not at all. You may hate me for saying this, but I do believe you make the world a better place.”

“Oh, disgusting, angel,” Crowley sneered.

“You are a good person, and you cannot fight that,” teased the angel.

Crowley frowned. “I’m not a person.”

“Well, then, you’re a very bad demon,” Aziraphale corrected, “and that’s why I love you.”

The demon blinked in surprise and shook his head slightly. “Could you say that again? I’m not quite sure that I heard you correctly.”

“Really, dear, we both know that you heard me perfectly,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley bridged the small gap between their faces until they were close to touching once more. He licked his lips before saying in a low voice, “Well, yeah, but could you say it again anyway?”

“If you insist,” the angel murmured, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” He bestowed another small kiss on Crowley’s lips. “I love you.” Turning his head to gain access to Crowley’s jaw, he placed a kiss there as well. “I love you,” he repeated. He felt the demon swallow hard as he moved down, grazing first lips, then tongue, then teeth lightly across his throat. He whispered an “I love you” to Crowley’s collarbone.

Then he stopped, placed an ear to Crowley’s chest. For a few long moments, Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s heartbeat, only the thin cotton of the demon’s shirt separating their skin. As he rested there, Crowley enveloped him in his arms, holding the angel close. Aziraphale responded by wrapping his own arms around Crowley’s waist and burrowing his head into the crook of Crowley’s neck, eyes closed, letting out a contented hum.

“Just for the record, you’re not too good of an angel, yourself.” Crowley muttered the words into the top of Aziraphale’s head.

“No,” the angel frowned. “No, I am not.”

Crowley pulled back slightly to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “I didn’t expect you to admit that so easily. I meant it in a good way, though,” he added quickly.

“I know you did, dear,” Aziraphale said. “A good angel is not supposed to want. And it’s taken me this long to realize that denying oneself is not the same as not having desires in the first place. To want at all is wrong, so why shouldn’t I want and also have?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale took a step back and inhaled deeply. “What I mean,” he said, “is that six thousand years is too long to keep up a charade.” He moved his hands to Crowley’s collar and undid the top button of his shirt. “I cannot pretend to be a good angel, my love, while I am materialistic,” – he undid another button – “and selfish,” – a third – “and covetous,” – a fourth – “and lustful.” He looked up at the demon’s face, searching for a sign to continue.

Crowley’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes wide, and he gazed back at Aziraphale intensely. “Oh, angel,” he said softly, “please don’t tease me.”

Aziraphale returned his attention to the demon’s chest, placing a line of small kisses from his sternum back up to his collarbone. He continued his work on Crowley’s shirt, unfastening the rest of the buttons while he unangelically sucked and licked at his throat.

“My dear,” he murmured into Crowley’s skin, “I could never be so wicked.”

The demon leaned down without hesitation, one hand reaching to tilt the angel’s face up, and kissed him hungrily. His tongue traced along the angel’s teeth before going further. Aziraphale nipped lightly at Crowley’s lower lip, inviting him deeper. Crowley leaned against the wall, unsure of the reliability of his legs, and Aziraphale placed his hands on either side of his waist, steadying him.

“If you’re trying to tempt me, angel,” Crowley said through heavy breaths, “it’s definitely working.”

Aziraphale responded by reaching down with one hand to work on Crowley’s belt buckle. “Yes, that’s the general idea,” he said.

He got the buckle open in seconds, then stepped back, looking up at the demon’s face. Face flushed, eyes wide, the taste of Dior Addict Ultra-Gloss faint on his tongue, Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley’s as he removed the belt with one smooth motion. Sliding his hands up the length of Crowley’s body, he slipped the shirt off the demon’s shoulders, discarding it on the floor.

Crowley watched his shirt fall to the ground and let out a small groan. “That’s not fair, I’m all exposed and you get to be all modest and such,” he whined.

Aziraphale chuckled. “I wouldn’t call this modesty,” he said, making quick work of the demon’s pants zipper.

“You know what I mean,” Crowley choked out, then caught his breath before adding, “You’re always hiding behind so many layers.”

“And you are definitely not,” the angel said wryly, as he noted the distinct lack of any clothing under Crowley’s slacks.

The demon smiled, but he grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist to still his hand. “Angel, please,” he said. “I want to see you, really see you. I want to touch your skin.”

“Yes,” the angel breathed, entwining his fingers with Crowley’s. He began to lead them to a side room, which had the double benefit of being secluded and not having three hundred and seven books scattered around the floor.

Crowley followed willingly and then suddenly stopped, pulling the angel back abruptly. “Aziraphale,” he said with a frown. “D’you suppose that we’ll get in any _big_ trouble for this?”

Aziraphale paused for a long moment in thought. “You know, my dear,” he said, “I don’t suppose I really care.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Billy Joel's "This Night," which is a fantastic song for cheesy hopeless romantics like myself (and Az and Crowley, as far as I'm concerned).  
> This is my first, but definitely not my last, Good Omens fic... I probably don't have to say this, but please be nice to me.


End file.
